Robison Wells - Variant

Joel was in front of me, and his fist hit my jaw before I could react. I collapsed, lights dancing in my eyes, and watched as the few students on my side of the fence began fighting. The androids in the group were changing sides.

I grabbed Joel’s leg and tried to trip him, but he managed to stay on his feet and smashed his gun down on my bad arm. I fell to the ground with a heavy thud and had to shake my head to try to see.

There were shouts and screams all around me, and the hissing sound of flying paint. I realized now that it was stupid to bring the guns. The paint couldn’t hurt the robots—only the humans. And all the androids were armed with it.

I could see the fallen pruning shears a few yards away and wondered where Becky was, but there wasn’t time to look. Joel grabbed me by the shoulder and lifted me off the ground—far stronger than any human could. But I twisted away, and his grip slipped, leaving him with a handful of shirt.

I reached for the pruning shears—my fingers could just touch the long handle—but I was too far. Joel flung me to the ground and then stepped on my braced wrist. I screamed in pain, and he kicked me in the ribs.

I couldn’t move. My arm throbbed and burned, and I felt like my lungs had stopped working.

Joel was moving away from me, inching toward the unarmed Society kids. Becky was in the front, her arms outstretched in a vain attempt to protect those behind her. He swung his heavy arms at her, missing by inches.

Taking a desperate gulp of air, I pushed myself to my feet, my ribs flaring with pain.

Joel brought his fist down on Becky’s shoulder, and she crumpled to the ground.

I grabbed the pruning shears. Recklessly, I lunged toward Joel, holding the shears in my right hand, just above the blade. I tackled him, plunging the sharp tool into his ribs.

He rolled underneath me, but I didn’t let go. I yanked out the shears again—they were bloody, but I knew it was only from the skin; there was no blood in his mechanical body—and again rammed them in, this time just below the neck. He spun, trying to throw me. He brought his fists down against me, but I was too close for it to hurt much.

I felt someone behind me jump on Joel’s fallen body and grab his thrashing legs. Another person—Becky—leapt on him, too, her arm around Joel’s neck.

She screamed. “Kill it!”

With a surge of adrenaline, I thrust the shears back down into Joel’s twisting body, again and again. On the last time the blade caught something, and I worked the handles back and forth cutting whatever cables or wires I’d snagged. Immediately, Joel stopped. His limbs and mouth frozen in place.

I lifted my head, surprised to see that no one else around us was still moving.

Mason stood disarmed, his hands on his bloodied head. On the other side of our group, Gabby was on the ground, moaning in pain, blood all over her shirt and arms. Mouse was down on the ground, Oakland’s machete lodged in her chest. For an instant I wondered what that meant—I couldn’t even tell who was on my side—but then I saw Oakland standing next to Ms. Vaughn, another knife at her throat.

“We’re not going to be your guinea pigs anymore,” Curtis yelled at the captive Ms. Vaughn. He was still standing on the other side of the electric fence. Many on that side were down on the ground now, crying in pain or cowering in fear, but I didn’t think there were any other androids there.

Curtis’s face was ashen. Carrie was trying to prop him up. “You can’t test us anymore,” he shouted. The pistol was in his hand, pointed at Ms. Vaughn. If Oakland didn’t get her then Curtis would.

Ms. Vaughn stared back at him, her amused smile visible in the dim light.

“How very egocentric,” she said, her voice cold and cruel. “We weren’t testing you. We’re testing them.” She gestured at the bodies of Joel and Mouse.

The androids? Jane?

“We have to test the programs somewhere, in a controlled environment,” she said scornfully. “This was never about you.”

“The tests weren’t for us,” Carrie said, her voice almost a whimper.

“Well,” Ms. Vaughn said, grinning at Carrie. “That’s not precisely true.”

And in an instant Curtis’s pistol was in Carrie’s hand. As he collapsed to the dirt—as Carrie let him fall—she fired three rounds into Oakland’s chest.

Screams erupted again, and Carrie fell—maybe Curtis pulled her down, I couldn’t tell.

I leapt from my place beside Joel, shears in my hand as I charged Ms. Vaughn. I knocked her backward and landed on top, the shears dangerously close to her throat.

“Call them off,” I shouted, my face only inches from Ms. Vaughn’s. I pressed the shears closer against her neck.

She laughed.

“Call them off!” I pushed the shears harder against her neck, and a thin line of blood appeared.

“You can’t harm me,” Ms. Vaughn said calmly. “I’m stored on the mainframe.”

My eyes went wide.

Someone was shouting, “Run!”

“You’ve failed, Mr. Fisher,” Ms. Vaughn said. “No one will get away. No one ever does.”

Becky was next to me, pulling on my arm. “Come on!”

I glanced back at the others. Tapti had turned on them now, and another Havoc boy.

I saw Curtis’s face. “Run!” Curtis yelled. “Go! Get help!”

Mason jumped toward Tapti, knocking her down. He snatched up someone’s dropped wrench.

I jumped off Ms. Vaughn and darted toward Becky. We paused on the edge of the trees, looking back. She was taking huge panicked gulps of air. “Come on,” I shouted to the others who were cowering against the fence, but they weren’t moving.

“Go!” Curtis shouted again. “Go!” There was despair in his voice.

Carrie had stood up again, but the gun wasn’t in her hands.

“Run!” It wasn’t just Curtis now but Gabby, too, and Skiver, all pleading with us to go.

“We can’t help them now,” Becky gasped, grabbing me by the shirt, pulling me forward. Mason was only twenty feet behind us.

I took one last look and then turned to the forest, running beside Becky as fast as we could. It wouldn’t be long before they sent someone after us.

We ran for ten minutes at least, Becky a few steps ahead of me and Mason somewhere behind.

Fifty-four students had tried to escape, and only three had made it. And who knew whether we’d ever get out of the forest—there were miles and miles left to go before we could even start looking for help.

We couldn’t go for the highway. They’d be watching the road. We had to go cross-country, pick a direction and hope we find help.

I thought of Curtis and Gabby, both viciously wounded. And others had been, too. If we weren’t fast, they’d die.

They might die anyway.

What if the school got rid of everyone else? Killed them? I looked at Becky’s small backpack and remembered the journal inside. It suddenly felt much more valuable.

We crested a low hill, and Becky slowed to a stop by a long-dead, fallen log. She was panting for breath. I noticed she’d been hit in the neck—there was a perfectly round cut where a firm paintball had broken the skin. The area around it was raised and bright red.

The clouds had broken around the moon, and there were fewer trees blocking the light up here. I could see a vague mass of forest—rolling hills stretching out toward the west. It felt strange to have a new vantage point after spending so long in one place.

“Look,” Becky said, her outstretched arm pointing toward something in the distance that I couldn’t see. “Is that smoke?”

I squinted. That was the general direction of the camp, but I couldn’t see in this light.

Mason reached us.